


Zombie's Day In

by MeltyRum



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Fate/Zero, Persona 5, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyRum/pseuds/MeltyRum
Summary: After being found alive in the police department's morgue, Miki Makimura's takes temporary residence at the home of Waver Velvet, the local coroner.
Relationships: Iskandar | Rider/Waver Velvet
Kudos: 9
Collections: Boku no Hero Academia x Persona





	Zombie's Day In

Television news droned on in the background, though there wasn’t much of interest from it. For learning what the world had been up to during her absence, Miki found the internet to be a much more reliable and exciting source. Fortunately, there hadn’t been anything earth-shaking—with one notable exception. Setting aside All Might’s retirement, there were a handful of things which had caught her eye: the ice murders (despite Ashura’s confinement), the investigation into her own death, an uptick in yakuza activity, a smattering of celebrity drama—even some odd footage of UA’s robot student taking care of some shopping.

All of which had been gleaned through a tablet—furnished by Waver’s generosity—and none of which the television reported on now. Daytime news tended to supply a more constant stream of more benign happenings—at least when it wasn’t repeating itself.

But Miki had quickly grown uncomfortable with the silence of an empty apartment. Even when she wasn’t worried about the fact that a person (people?) was after her life, she was used to sharing her living space with her family—which pretty much included Akira, at this point. She hoped _he_ was safe. He hadn’t made an appearance in the news, so she assumed he and the rest of her family were well.

But even if they wouldn’t make the news, the television would stay on. That’s pretty much how it was at home, anyway. She’d take anything that made her feel a little less alone.

She set the tablet aside long enough to visit the kitchen and get herself a glass of water, deciding to take a detour by Waver’s desk in order to stretch her legs. She’d already had plenty of time to look over her host’s library and had decided it was a collection she wasn’t really envious of. There were plenty of texts you would think typical for a coroner, highlighting things to do with the body or other medical information. But there were also a handful of more idiosyncratic books that she wouldn’t have expected from someone with Waver’s demeanor—but not strange enough to ask about, anyway; she was doing her best not to be rude.

Still, it made her eyebrows rise a little when she saw a book or two about witchcraft. She was certain it was all in good fun, but a quick skim of the contents revealed a soberness of presentation which made her wonder whether the author was joking or not. Not that it mattered—Waver wouldn’t be the type to believe in that sort of thing, even if it had a home on his bookshelf for _some_ reason.

Her eyes wandered to his laptop, since there were only so many books whose spines seemed interesting. Miki hadn’t touched it, but she couldn’t help being curious about what the coroner got up to in his free time. She got the impression that he hadn’t exactly been following his old routines ever since she had come to stay with him—which she couldn’t blame him for, considering the uniqueness of the entire situation. Waver had been good to her, but the apartment certainly didn’t feel like _home_. Rather than a warm guest—rather than family—she was an invading curiosity to be tiptoed around.

Well, it made sense: no one would want a zombie hanging out in their apartment. Miki tried not to feel hurt by Waver’s obviously not wanting her here, regardless of how polite he was.

At least she felt safe, though, and she wasn’t going to regret being alive. It was a shame that her revival would be an administrative and investigative headache, but that would be in the domain of other people. Miki would help where she could, of course—it would be much easier to rebuild her life if her killer was found—but she would ultimately need to wait for Katsuya and Waver to reach the right conclusions where that was concerned.

As she wandered back toward the couch, she noticed that the news had cycled onto something new, yet familiar: another drug bust, this time relating to Trigger. The casters speculated about the involvement of yakuza; it certainly didn’t have the League of Villain’s fingerprints on it, after all. They were always a bit more… flashy.

The yakuza, though… even with a world full of heroes, the criminal underworld probably wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon, given how firmly set its roots were. Uprooting a weed like that would just be more trouble than it was worth, given how it seemed to affect innocent people so rarely—at least on the surface. With the number of businesses they controlled, it was probably hard to get by without brushing up against them at least a little, but that just meant most people were customers, rather than victims.

Well, it’s not as though Miki knew much about it.

She couldn’t help but wonder, though: was her death connected to them? It could easily not be, since she had no memories of the event, but maybe she ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and fell victim to a more adventurous clutch of footmen. Or perhaps one of her modeling gigs had gone wrong—she always did get a weird feeling from one of her photographers.No memories, though; she didn’t have her phone, either, but even if that had been found on her corpse and was sitting in an evidence locker somewhere, she doubted there was some kind of record of sketchy activity. It would be nice if they found something like that, though.

Or… would it?

Miki set down her empty glass of water, staring straight through it to the table below as she contemplated: regardless of whether it was yakuza or an errant photographer, did she _want_ to know what had happened to her? She hadn’t been told the details, but both Waver and Suou-san mentioned that her body was in awful condition when it was discovered.

Awful how? she wondered. Obviously, she had been attacked. The same way Fox had been attacked, maybe? But he lived, at least. Of course, so did _she_ , and with no recollection of it to bother her. Maybe Miki was the lucky one, then? Or not, since her killer got the opportunity to finish her again, should they want to—and Miki would have the dubious honor of being the first human being to have been murdered twice. And if that’s how it went, perhaps there would be a third time—or a fourth.

She looked out the window leading to the balcony. It all frustrated her: if she could die more times, then… how many times did she die _already_? Was her kidnapping truly the first time? If she lost so many memories, then there could be any number of times where she’d died, couldn’t there?

Miki shook her head, freeing it from such gloomy thoughts. There was no way _that_ was the case, she knew. Her murder would have to have been her first death—or if there were an earlier one, it would have happened at a similar time. She had a fairly clear memory up until that one day at school, so her death (or deaths) would have happened _after_ that. If only she could remember the date, that day; had she not glanced at a calendar? What if the day she’d gone missing was different from the last day of her memories?

There was just… too much she didn’t know about her ability. Were there rules? What were they? How would she possibly find the answers to those questions?

Indeed, therepassedplenty of moments where Miki swelled with the desire to reproduce the effects of her quirk. Waver’s kitchen was well-equipped with knives, so one of them would certainly do the trick; if that wasn’t an option, she almost certainly wouldn’t survive a fall from his balcony; she could also draw a bath and submerge herself. But the proposition was a bit too frightening—Miki knew she would never bring herself to do it. If only Waver was stricter or crueler; if only she was more desperate! Then maybe she would have the courage to kill herself here—to really put her quirk to the test.

It occurred to her that she ought to start keeping a diary. That way, if she died again, she could compare the final dates of her memories with a record of her own. Perhaps she could ask Waver for the appropriate materials. Even if she didn’t test her quirk herself, you never knew what could happen. Maybe someone with a death quirk would end up being prone to experiencing it more often? In a way, that made logical sense: she was the type of person who _could_ experience it more often.

With a heavy sigh, Miki laid herself flat behind the couch, deciding to resort to managing her restlessness and frustration with her usual exercise routine—when she heard a key turning in the lock. Scrambling to her feet, Miki found her face mask just as she heard her guest cross the genkan.

“Hello!” came a great, booming voice one usually didn’t hear accompanying Japanese.

When she turned her newly-covered face to meet him, she couldn’t help but be startled by the massive man before her. Certainly, she knew who Rider was—she’d looked him up after Waver’s mention of him, naturally—but the images and videos could not have prepared her for the mountain of muscle himself. If Waver hadn’t prepared her, she would have sworn that her life was in danger… again. He was so huge, the round package in his hands looked positively minuscule.

“Welcome,” she tried weakly. It came out practically as a whisper, her voice still impotent from the awe. “I mean: welcome!” she repeated, summoning a bit more power and bowing her head lightly. “Velvet-san said you would be visiting sometime, Rider.”

Her greeting was met with a hearty chuckle. “You must be Miki-chan, then. Feel free to call me Alexander—or Lazarov—or whatever you like! Actually, ‘Rider’ might be easiest to say, after all.Excuse me for a moment, young lady; I must put this in the refrigerator—some food for you and Waver. I hope you like zelnik!” he announced, clearly deriving much amusement from the idea that Miki almost certainly didn’t know what that was.

Indeed, she did not: “Zelnik?”

“You will see; a gift from my home country—which you may enjoy later, with your _uncle_. I assume a growing girl won’t turn down a bit of meat and rice,” he chuckled, apparently quite amused with himself again.

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t,” she said, rather nonplussed at how ordinary the whole thing sounded. Resisting the urge to peek into the fridge at what it was—or to address the peculiar emphasis he put on the word “uncle”—she continued: “What _is_ your home country, Rider?”

“Macedonia, although I consider myself a man of the world, now. But there’s no sense in talking here; will you join me for coffee?” With a genial smile, he brandished a shopping bag which had hitherto gone unnoticed. After setting a small arrangement of cans onto Waver’s little table for two, he invited himself into one of the chairs, which looked laughably dwarfish under Rider’s demanding frame. He gestured to the cans, inviting her to choose one.

After helping herself to the seat across from him, Miki chose to reward herself by choosing one with cream and sugar, deciding that all this being pent-up and trapped in her own ruminations warranted something a little sweet.

“Oh,” she realized, as she took it in hand. “I suppose I can’t drink with the mask on, though,” she observed.

“No, I suppose you couldn’t!” said Rider, smiling and watching her with an expectant look.

Miki briefly considered her position, keeping her eyes on her guest as she did so. Waver _had_ told her that Rider would likely realize her identity, but perhaps it would be best for her to get in the habit of pretending she was a different person. That said, there was no reason she couldn’t let her guard down a little bit; as long as she played along and didn’t mention anything about her quirk or what had happened to her, it should all be fine. She was still Miki. Just a Miki from Britain, this time. Short for… Michelle? Never mind.

She pulled the mask down below her chin—a gesture which Rider met with a knowing nod. She did her best to return his smile. “You didn’t come just to deliver food, then?”

“Well, Waver and I are quite close, so I thought I should get to know his niece. In any case, he wanted me to check on you; perhaps he thinks that you will lack for company, what with _him_ being your current guardian,” he said, finishing with a boisterous laugh as he took one of the other cans into his hand (again, she could not help noticing how pathetically tiny it appeared in his grasp).

After some dry laughter of her own, Miki opened her drink. “I’m usually pretty good at entertaining myself, but it _is_ nice to talk to someone else. Velvet-san obviously has a lot on his plate, and I’m sure my being here doesn’t help.”

Rider nodded his agreement. “He does seem to have his mind on his work rather often. A bit more relaxation would do him good, but—alas—perhaps it is the price he pays for his particular occupation.”

“It’s not a job for everyone,” she seconded.

“And? Other than lacking in presence, has his care for you sufficed?”

She blinked, a little surprised to hear that he cared. “Velvet-san has done a lot for me, and I can’t say I have any complaints. I’m not sure we’re that compatible, is all—as people. Socially speaking, I mean. I’m just a high school student, after all.”

Rider shook his head, taking a sip from his own can and waving a dismissive hand. “Ah, that’s just how he is at first blush. In truth, it’s probably that you’re too polite. The only way to get closer to a man like that is to annoy him, in that discomfort brings him comfort. I could compare him to a cat: force your attention and affections on him and he will surely bristle, but sooner or later he’ll return some affection of his own.” He grinned, ostensibly pleased with his own counsel.

Miki couldn’t suppress a smile at this dubious advice. It was true that the two of them had kept a polite distance from each other, but this _was_ the man who had seen her naked—and in varying states of structural soundness, at that. Would it be funny if she asked him to describe her maimed body to her in detail?

“I guess I never really thought of pushing him like that,” she admitted. “I’ve been trying to behave like a normal adult would, given the circumstances; you think he would like ‘vapid high school girl’ a bit more?” she asked, joking.

To her surprise, Rider answered with a firm nod. “Certainly so. Or perhaps ‘ _like’_ isn’t the correct term, but it would certainly open him up to you. You’re far too young to be behaving like a ‘normal adult’, in any case. Waver likes nothing so much as a nuisance, if our relationship is anything to go by.”

“Well, the way I’m leeching off him, maybe I’ll be fine,” she giggled, sensing something of a comrade in Rider. “He did mention that you two met during one of your patrols. I’m guessing you took the lead.”

“Naturally. Taking the lead is one of those things at which I do best!” he boasted as he opened another can of coffee, apparently having already drained the first one when she wasn’t looking. “How much has Waver told you about the two of us, then, hm?”

“I was actually just going to ask about that,” said Miki, sipping her drink at a more leisurely pace. “He didn’t mention very much—just that you walk him home a lot, these days. But the way you talk, it sounds like the two of you are pretty close.”

“Very perceptive, aren’t you?” he commented. It was impossible to tell if he was joking. “Indeed, we’ve grown quite close over the short time we’ve known each other. It turns out we appeal to each other in ways we may not have expected: though he is frail and weak, he is both amusing and admirable in fair measure, and although I am hot-blooded and noisy and large, it seems he finds those qualities attractive in a man of my caliber. His hobbies are not as boring as you would guess, either, which means we have spent quite a lot of time with one another.”

Hot-blooded, noisy, and large, he’d said. Well, it was true that Rider didn’t seem to leave much of his personality to the imagination, preferring instead to offer all of himself to a person—no matter how casual the conversation, apparently.

“It reassures me that he has a friend like you, Rider,” said Miki. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but it gives me hope that I can get closer to him, too.”

“Very good. I don’t know your family situation, but as far as _I’m_ concerned, you should enjoy your time here as much as possible. Of course, out of respect for your presence here, Waver and I will likely commiserate in hotels—or at my own residence—in the evenings, rather than here at home,” he added.

Hotels? A bold mention, she thought. Miki abruptly cleared her throat, hoping to inconspicuously disguiseher surprise. Rider was a foreigner, after all; maybe that had something to do with it? She certainly didn’t expect to be casually chatting about the sex life of her temporary guardian. Miki tried to pay no mind to the sensation of hercheeks warming up, and wasn’t sure if she hoped Rider would notice or not.

“Well, putting that aside,” Miki started, her voice sounding more like a plea than a suggestion, “I don’t know if this is an insensitive question, but did you come to Japan just to be a hero, Rider?”

“Ah, a fine question indeed,” he started, nodding his approval. “In a sense, the answer is yes, though I performed plenty of heroic deeds in Macedonia. There is some distance to go, but my ambition is to be the world’s hero—to become a face that every person will recognize and admire. To that end, perhaps I will aim to perform heroic deeds in any nation I can reach! Though I doubt I will leave Japan for some time, given the excitement of the climate,” he admitted, following his words with a few barks of grim laughter.

Realizing she didn’t have very much to contribute to this topic, Miki decided she may as well try her best impression of those interviewers droning on television. “I don’t mean any offense, but it doesn’t really sound like you’re in the hero business for altruism. Some people are starting to look down on the glory-seeking that heroes are known for.”

Rider crossed his arms, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling for a moment. “Yes, I suppose they are,” he began, grinning widely again. “And your assumption is right—but it isn’t as though altruism is not a part of the equation. My motivations come from many places. For example: aside from money or fame, the thrill of battle itself is reason enough to take up heroism for someone like me. At times, the most satisfying thing is for the enemy to see how powerful you are; that can be inspiring, too, in a way.”

Miki gave him an incredulous smile, finding his logic as endearing as it was confusing. “If all you wanted was to fight, doesn’t it make more sense to be a villain?”

“Not if you want to win the hearts of the people!” he replied, with an enthusiasm that left no room for argument. “Or perhaps villainy would win hearts, but who could say it was the right ones? Certainly, not every innocent person who supports heroes is of a high caliber themselves, but it is important for heroes to encourage them nonetheless. In truth, I do not think that fame for a hero is a bad thing: I desire a world where people are envious of heroes, in fact; they should be inspired by their example and want to take up the fight themselves. Of course, some people may not have quirks suited to it, and not everyone can be a hero, but I hate that sort of practical thinking,” he chuckled.

“If you ask me,” he continued, his eyes smiling at her: “Heroes should not be treated as martyrs, or like a virtuous buffer between innocents and villainy, but as vibrant personalities worthy of adoration and praise!”

Somewhat surprised at the way he went on, Miki bought herself time for a response by having some more of her coffee. A part of her worried if he would break into another speech if she took too long to address his words, but another part of her thought she would quite like to hear it. People, by and large, were still supportive of heroes, but Rider’s thoughts were still of a rather different tenor to the ideas that had begun floating around ever since the incident with Stain. She couldn’t help finding that kind of self-promotion somewhat amusing… and kind of admirable.

She wondered what her friends would think, though. While Iwai-san would likely nod along enthusiastically, it probably wasn’t an argument that would win Aoyagi-san over, and she had a hard time guessing how Suou-san or Dojima-san would take it—though she could certainly see how a few lessons with Rider might be able to cure Suou-san of his stoicism.

When she thought about it, she probably landed somewhere closest to Iwai’s camp.

“If people want to risk their health protecting people, then it stands to reason that they should be admired,” she conceded, though it wasn’t _that_ much of a concession. Of course it made sense to support the people who had made their world as safe as it was. Or… as safe as it was until _recently_. Perhaps that was an odd thing to believe, though, considering what had happened to her.

“I am glad you agree,” said Rider seriously. “And on the subject of martyrs, a hero should not try to die, so much as they should understand it is an ever-present risk. To fight means to accept the possibility of death, as well as the possibility that that death may not be a grand one. Now, a hero who _couldn’t_ die—that would be something!” he declared, giving her a suspiciously meaningful look.

“Er, yes,” she concurred, searching his face for any sign of whatever his intentions might be. “That does sound like it would be useful, although ‘not dying’ might not be of much use on its own, when it comes to being a hero.”

“Yes, true,” he agreed, nodding firmly. “Not to mention it would be difficult to learn the rules of such a quirk.”

She made sure to meet his eyes, trying to figure out if it was Rider’s intention for the two of them to speak so obtusely. “Like if there was a limit to the number of times they could die, or a means of dying which would override the… the ‘revival’. Or if there were side effects which discouraged the use of it.” All questions she wanted the answers to, but could not have unless she paid the highest price possible for them; that fact _itself_ was enough to discourage the use of her apparent quirk.

“Indeed! It seems like you’ve given it quite some thought already.” Rider looked satisfied as he finished his second drink. “It is true that without the answers to such questions, it is doubtful that this sort of quirk would be very useful for a hero. Even then, it might be better suited to other matters. Espionage, perhaps? Though I know very little on that subject.” He smiled, as though content in his ignorance.

Was he trying to recruit her? she wondered. If so, this was quite the unusual way of doing so.

“But enough about the hypothetical, and enough about myself. I would like to know more about Waver’s niece, but that will have to wait until next time,” he announced, rising to his feet. “I’m afraid I am expected on the streets, so you will need to excuse me. But feel free to get in touch, should any trouble arrive!”

Slightly alarmed at his sudden exit, it took Miki a moment to set aside her drink and catch up to him, meeting him by the door. “Right. I will, Rider. Um… thank you for coming! I had fun,” she confessed, a little more automatically than she intended. It made her feel a little frustrated.

“I am glad to hear it; we will have to do it again soon,” he beamed. “Do enjoy the zelnik—and the coffee. Until then, is there anything I might assist you with?

She shook her head to put him at ease, spotting an opportunity to get her feelings off her chest. “No, but… I have to say: you’re not exactly what I expected, Rider. I know we were being sly, so maybe I shouldn’t say this, but—roundabout conversation or not—I’m grateful you were here.” She paused to swallow, trying to push down the embarrassment rising inside her gut. “It made me feel less lonely—not only because you were with me, but because now I know that there are some people who have the same questions that I do.” And that _someone_ , at least, had wondered what might be in Miki’s future, regardless of the investigation.

Miki cleared her throat, feeling her ears grow a little hot. She was embarrassed at having forced him to listen to her, in addition to being embarrassed at being embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you, Rider.”

“Not to worry,” said Rider, who briefly placed a reassuring (and gargantuan) hand on her shoulder. “While difficulties often make things appear otherwise, the world is simpler than it seems; time will bring you the answers you want, as long as you pursue them. Until next time, Miki-chan.”


End file.
